


The Christmas Dance

by CeruleanBlues



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3070046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanBlues/pseuds/CeruleanBlues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It isn’t until he loses the Ponds that he thinks to find her again. The aching, gaping hole in his hearts left by them would certainly be eased by her laughter, her quick wit, and her infectious smile.</p><p>He’ll just pop back to a point before they’ve met. Before she’s met either of him. Before everything. Before…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is entirely un-beta’d. All mistakes are mine. Just a random little plot bunny that absolutely wouldn’t let go at all. But, fyi, I don't ship Charley with anyone but Eight, but this moment was too sweet to ignore.
> 
> Sometimes, you just have to write some fluff. So, fluffity fluff fluff.

It isn’t until he loses the Ponds that he thinks to find her again. The aching, gaping hole in his hearts left by them would certainly be eased by her laughter, her quick wit, and her infectious smile.

He’ll just pop back to a point before they’ve met. Before she’s met either of him. Before everything. Before…

Quickly, he sorts through the wardrobe to find his tuxedo, the one with the tails. A quick little evening out, and who’s to say no to a dance or two? Perhaps, perhaps he’ll show up at Christmas time. He could do with some twinkling lights, the glitter and music to drive away the sorrow.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he straightens his bow tie.

When he arrives at the crowded dance hall, only 10 months before he’ll meet her again, for the first time, it takes him a while to find her among the sequins and tails and satins. The hustle and bustle overwhelms him momentarily, and it takes him a moment (and a glass of champagne) to awkwardly regain his composure.

She’s standing near the window, glittering in the moonlight like some sort of angel, or, no, perhaps a star. A whole nebula of stars, he thinks to himself. He’s never seen her so done up - golden cream chiffon and lace float down her curves in shimmering tiers, the milky expanse of skin exposed by the plunging neckline is dotted only by a simple, gold chain. Her usually wild blonde bob is refined, restrained into elegant waves that frame her round, warm face.

One thing remains the same - that look of utter boredom and lack of patience she’s clearly aiming at the poor sod next to her, trying his best to charm the beautiful, but headstrong, young lady.

He jumps right into the conversation, interrupting the young man and sweeping Charlotte Pollard (Charley to her friends, she tells him as they settle into position), onto the dance floor as the band starts up again.

She’s wary, but grateful. His banter is light, he makes no attempts (for once) to impress. He just wants to see her smile. He makes her laugh with his biting quips about the nearby dancers, and he wishes with both hearts that he could keep that sound, keep her carefree and joyous like this for an eternity.

The songs blur together, Charley’s apprehension wanes, and they spin and twirl through dance after dance, thick as thieves. No one tries to cut in, and neither pull away and excuse themselves to dance with anyone else. They have created a small universe in which only they exist, joking and teasing and forgetting any troubles they may have had. Just for a little while.

He takes the time to memorize again those mischievous blue eyes, the way she laughs with her whole self, unrestrained even in this public setting. The warm scent of her perfume. How soft and sweet she is even to someone she barely knows. How kind her heart is.

She tells him of adventures she wishes to have. He tells her (with some careful editing) some of his own. He can see the spark igniting in her, the one that will surely lead to her exploits aboard the R-101 in a few months’ time. He recognizes this moment as the unintentional birth of the ‘Edwardian Adventuress’, as she called herself then.

As the evening comes to a close, he bows out, kissing her hand like some dandy debonair. She laughs at the absurd, though adorable gesture, and gently returns the kiss on his cheek.

An older woman, accompanied by two other young girls - her mother, and her sisters?- waves at Charley anxiously to come to her.

"Merry Christmas, John." She is all aglow, no regrets or reluctance in her stance.

"And a merry Christmas to you as well, Charlotte Pollard."

He quickly turns on his heels and heads for the door before he can do something more foolish, something he could regret. He needs to get back to the TARDIS while he is still buoyant from champagne and laughter and music. Before the hurt can settle back in again.

He never turns back, and misses the bewildered look cross her face.

“ _I never told him my last name_ ,” she muses for a moment. Then, shaking her head, she excuses it without further thought. Perhaps the champagne has clouded her memory.

She scurries to catch up with her family, forcing herself to once again be the dutiful daughter, not the adventurous woman she knows lies within. This evening has left her changed, and she knows it.

It’ll be eleven months later before she truly realizes how changed she had become.


End file.
